Grapple's Choice
by Miratete
Summary: G1: Chapter 8: "Nova Sabulon" posted! Hoist and Grapple are reunited after being apart four years, only for Hoist to find that his long-time lover has changed completely. So completely that he's barely recognizable. But that doesn't mean that Hoist doesn't like what Grapple has become. And Chromia has a big surprise for Ironhide—a very big surprise.
1. Awakening

**Grapple's Choice**

-o-o-o-o-o-

 **Chapter 1: Found**

-o-o-o-o-o-

"Interesting. Definitely an Autobot shuttle, or perhaps even an Autobot shuttle-former in there," Optimus Prime rumbled in appraisal of the ice-bound spacecraft.

Prowl ran again through the file of pictures Cosmos had sent, the Autobots in the room all staring in curiosity. A red Autobot brand was clearly visible on the grey-blue plating of the unknown craft.

"And those guys in the pictures are the same ones that made me the offer," continued Cosmos, referring to the aliens visible in some of the shots.

"How much to purchase the coordinates from them?"

"They want ten thousand credits for just the location. Fifteen if I want them to take me there, and twenty-five if we want them to dig it out for us."

"Do it," said Prime unhesitatingly. "Give them fifteen, but let me send Jetfire and a team out to you first, and then pay them the additional ten thousand to remove the jet if it looks worthwhile for either parts or reconditioning."

"All right. I'll wait then for Jetfire's team to arrive before I transfer the funds, but I'll make sure they know we're ready to pay their price." Cosmos looked about nervously as if someone might be watching. "There are reports of Decepticon activity in this region, though none are more recent than ten vorns. I'd just hate for them to make the same offer to Megatron."

"Understood. If you have to pay them some of the amount to assure our interest, do so."

"I shall. Cosmos out."

Ironhide approached the screen, leaned over Prowl's shoulder, and taking the controls he flipped through the pictures yet again. His mouth twisted into an expression that the prime recognized easily. "What is it, Ironhide?"

"That's a terast in there. It looks like a terast in his alt-mode."

"A terast?" Optimus looked again. "Are you sure?"

"What's a terast?" Bumblebee asked.

"I've never heard of a terast," said Bluestreak.

Ironhide nudged Prowl out of his seat at the monitor and the old warrior zoomed in on an area of the shuttle's fuselage. "An early form of combiner technology... used in the first days of the war," he supplied.

"I think you're right," said Optimus as Ironhide scrolled to another picture that showed more of the craft entrapped in the ice asteroid.

"A combiner? Really? So we might have five or six 'Bots in there?"

"Probably just two, the terast and his pilot," Ironhide explained. "A terast was a large warrior mech attached to three smaller mechs: a pilot, a mechanic, and a fueler. The terast was a big ol' flying, gunslinging frontliner. His pilot managed the team and pretty much controlled him in battle, and sat inside of the terast and was in constant interface with him, so it was more like having two separate minds running one body. Binary-bonding at it's finest. Though if anything the pilot was the dominant one when they merged. And then the others were support crew to look after the terast and kept him fit for battle."

"So not a combiner as we know today, like Superion or Defensor."

"Exactly."

Trailbreaker was now leaning in closer to the pictures given to Cosmos by the mining crew. "I'm sure it's a terast. Look at the shape of the fuselage, and that could be a terast's logo there."

Ironhide zoomed in on the indicated area. "I think you're right. Teletraan, switch to a negative image of the magnified area. Remove all parts of the image that could be interpreted as the ice surrounding a shuttle or a mech in alt mode."

Teletraan's screen switched for a moment to a bumper pattern before switching back to display Ironhide's request. The few odd lines of white had been replaced by an obvious if broken logo in black, but it was recognizable enough for Ironhide and Trailbreaker let out a whoop and high-five each other.

"You were right," smiled Optimus. "No mistaking that symbol for anything else."

"I knew it was a terast," beamed Trailbreaker.

The symbol consisted of three four-pointed stars in a horizontal line, their thin points just touching as if holding hands. The slightly larger central star was the focus of a halo which intersected the two side stars, enclosing the design into a tidy unit.

"Interesting. Why were they only used at the beginning of the war?" Bluestreak asked.

"The early days were rather different when it came to military tactics and technology. We were trying everything to gain the upper hand," Optimus offered. "The terast program was successful, but when resources began to run low, they were phased out in favor of smaller, more efficient and sustainable weapons and frames."

"Well just how big is a terast?" asked Bumblebee.

"Jetfire and a half," laughed Ironhide. "But not as big as the Omega Guardians."

"They must have been formidable on the battlefield," Bumblebee thought aloud.

"They were," Optimus said, a touch of nostalgia in his voice. "If we're lucky this one still has a spark in him. With this planet's resources, we could easily maintain one, provided we have his pilot as well."

"What about the other team members?" Prowl asked, his processors already computing the possibilities of adding such a warrior to their forces on Earth. He'd heard of the terasts and knew their reputation as formidable warriors but had never actually seen one.

"We'd have to make do, perhaps even reformat and retrain some of our force here into those positions. But this would only be if the terast and his pilot survived."

"We could put a new spark into the terast frame," Trailbreaker said matter-of-factly. "Couldn't we? If the frame and the weapons are salvageable. The pictures didn't show or even hint at any damage."

"We could..." Optimus said, his voice suddenly sounding rather far-away. "I guess we should really just wait to see what we've got until we make plans."

-o-o-o-o-o-

The mining team guided Jetfire, Cosmos, Ironhide, Beachcomber, and Huffer through the excavated tunnel to where their find waited, entombed in ice. This section of space, the foreboding Erebus Nebula, was full of asteroids encased in ice. Other objects were occasionally and equally entombed—spacecraft, drones, radio beacons, science stations—hapless victims of the unusual conditions of the nebula. And now the evidence had shown that even Cybertronians had experienced the frozen fate so many others had. The miners had made a living out of braving the difficult conditions to salvage or extract what they could find at the heart of the spacebergs.

And the find was everything the pictures had suggested and more as they would soon discover. An Autobot jet, somewhat larger than Jetfire, sat in the ice slightly exposed by the explorations of the miners. The Autobot symbol that had been seen in the pictures was clearly visible, and it had been this symbol that had led to the contacting of the faction. With a bit of work they were able to expose a hatchway, and Huffer and Beachcomber went inside.

::Well, it's definitely a terast,:: was Huffer's evaluation.

::Did you find the pilot?:: Ironhide asked.

::Possibly. There are three bodies in here, all with the same bluish-grey plating as the hull of the terast.::

Ironhide felt a rush of excitement. The full team perhaps? ::Do they all have the same symbol on them, the white stars in the ring? There are always four mechs on a terast team—three small and one large.::

::Well they're all painted the same. Let me look for the symbols.:: Huffer sent out a video feed from his optical intake, revealing three bodies lying in stasis-lock against the control panel, looking as if they had been waiting for their fate. Hands were clasped together. Heads were touching. He began pulling them away from each other, brushing the frost off of their chests in search of identifying markings. ::Looks like two mechs and a femme.::

Beachcomber crouched beside one of them and turned a frost-rimed faceplate toward himself. Something of a sad expression lingered on the features. "Poor things," he sighed. "They knew what was happening but apparently couldn't do anything about it."

::Terast symbols on all three:: was Huffer's report.

::It must be the full team. Perhaps they were being sent somewhere when they became trapped,:: suggested Jetfire, a bit of giddiness in his voice. His own experience on Earth was uncomfortably similiar. The hope of rescuing others who'd suffered the same fate had become foremost in his mind once word of the find had reached him.

::Quite possibly.::

::Think we can get them out of here?::

::We'll get the miners to do it. They've got better equipment for this job than we do, and there's a lot of ice to break them out of.::

-o-o-o-o-o-

Cosmos left the spaceberg and returned to Earth first. In his hold along with Huffer were the three bodies that had been pulled out of the terast. On landing, the ancient Autobots were taken into the Ark and down to the medbay, where the process of reviving the pilot and mechanic began with near immediacy, their sparks having survived the long, long sleep. The fueler had not been as fortunate, and Ratchet confirmed Huffer's original evaluation. The mech had not made it. But the fact that three of the four members had survived was impressive. Not all of the Autobots Optimus Prime had taken with him on the search for a new source of energy had survived the six octads after crashing on Earth.

The pilot and mechanic were found to be in a near perfect state despite their stasis in the ice. And on searching the available records of the terasts, the team was actually identified and their fate fully learned. The terast, an adult-build rather than a reformat, had been designated Hyperion. The pilot was a valorous mech named Apex—a popular and distinguished Autobot. The mechanic was a medically-trained femme that went by the name of Sundog. The unfortunate fueler appeared in the records as Stoker. Some eight and a half million years ago the team was being transferred to the now defunct colony of Pax Sabulon when they disappeared en route. Never arriving, they were listed as lost either due to a navigational error or an unknown Decepticon ambush.

As Ratchet worked, currently giving both frames an infusion of cybertonium, other mechs gathered in the observation gallery above the medbay to watch. Grapple and Huffer had some months before opened a window between the storage room above the medbay and the main area itself so that injured friends could be observed without disturbing the work of the medics. "I can't figure out what the pilot's alt-mode is," declared Bluestreak to the others in the crowded gallery, all curious about the ancient mech and femme.

"He's a core-former, explained Trailbreaker. "He folds down into a box full of computers and a set of armored nerve-cables. I guess they pre-date you."

"Nerve cables?" Cliffjumper queried. "I thought they'd just been pulling him apart. He's meant to be all... tentacly?"

"Yep. That's all part of his normal form."

Ironhide jumped in, the faces of the other younger mechs present all looking on with much curiosity. "Okay... lesson time again. This basically how a terast worked. The terast is a big guy like Jetfire, except with a smaller mech—a core-former—sitting inside of him like a shuttle pilot. In battle that pilot transforms to his core mode and assumes a hard-line connection to the terast. Those nerve-cables run out and connect directly to the weapons, ambulatory, and flight systems, so the pilot has almost complete command of the terast's body, but suddenly the terast's much smarter and much more aware because it has two consciousnesses and more processing power controlling it. Plus the pilot is sheltered so the whole system is more impervious to crippling damage or energy attacks.

"So, sort of a two-man combiner team. But then what about the mechanic and the fueler?"

"Support staff, though the bond between them and the terast can be just as strong as the bond with the pilot. They're a family unto themselves."

"But their fueler's dead, right?"

"Yeah. Sadly. But we should be able to find some way to get around it."

"It shouldn't be too hard to find someone to pump gas into him, right?" Bumblebee grinned.

-o-o-o-o-o-

Sundog was brought to consciousness first, and the femme was delighted to find herself rescued by fellow Autobots, but the discovery that her team been trapped in space for so long shocked her to the core. "Thirteen octads... Such a long time..."

She was soon up and moving around, and was at Apex's side when he was woken and the pilot was immediately embracing his teammate, the two sobbing their eyewash reservoirs dry in happiness at being rescued, and also in sorrow over the loss of the fueler. As suspected, their impending doom had been met fully aware, and they had prepared themselves for the possibility that some or all of them might not survive the entombment. But despite knowing the possibility both were gravely saddened that Stoker had not survived the long period of stasis-lock.

Introductions and a formal briefing followed, Optimus catching up the newly woken mechs on the present state of the war and Cybertron. Afterward Jetfire took them out to the Aerialbots' hangar to a large room that had been designated as theirs, kindly given over by the flying gestalt. Three days later Jetfire and Omega Supreme brought in the terast himself, still partially frozen in Erebussian ice. They placed his huge frame outside of the hangar, where for a few more days Hyperion lay in the hot high desert sun, meltwater dripping out of him—much of it collecting into buckets for study by and the sating of Perceptor's curiosity.

"The ice broke a lot of his outer transfluid lines, so we'll need to do extensive repairs before we can revive him," explained Ratchet to Apex and Sundog. "But he'll be just fine once we've gotten that and a few of these other damages taken care of. He's been well looked after," he said with a nod and a smile to the mechanic.

"Thank you most kindly, Ratchet," she said gratefully. In the sunshine their bluish-grey plating was revealed to have a greenish undertone and a distinctive golden cast where the light reflected off it at a certain angle. The color was a complicated one.

"We know that you will do your best," said Apex trustingly, reaching up and placing his hand on Ratchet's shoulder, evoking another smile from the frequently gruff medic. This Apex was a charmer.

"And until then, let us know what we can do to make you comfortable and tell us if there's anything you require," said Optimus. "We know what it's like to wake up in the distant future and to find yourself displaced from everything you knew."

"They'll take care of you. They did for me," Jetfire added. He'd given his story to the pair already, having been assigned to ease their transition to Earth, given the similar fate he had suffered.

-o-o-o-o-o-

Ratchet, Sundog, and First Aid spent the next few days repairing the damage to Hyperion's frame and restoring his cybertonium levels, and on one blindingly hot afternoon they brought him back online. He transformed with a shout of joy and seized his comparatively tiny pilot and mechanic in his arms and held them closely, pressing his forehead to theirs and gushing excited words at the rescue of their team. Naturally it was but little time before the missing presence was noted. "Where is he? Is he still in stasis-lock?" He set down his two teammates and looked about frantically.

The other two looked at him sadly. "Peery... he is gone. Stoker did not make it."

"Stoker...? Gone...?" he gasped.

"His spark failed to survive the stasis. We were in stasis-lock for nearly thirteen octads."

"He was gone when we were found," said Apex soberly, reaching up to pat the terast's hip.

At this the large mech gasped and began to shake. "Thirteen octads?"

"Peery, I am so sorry," sighed Sundog, wrapping her arms about Hyperion's lower leg. Height-wise she and Apex barely reached his knees when the three were standing.

"Gone..."

The huge mech sat down heavily onto the tarmac outside the hangar and stared at his teammates.

"We were lucky to survive that long in stasis ourselves."

"Gone... No spark..." Hyperion choked.

"It... happened," Apex sighed regretfully.

"Stoker..." And then Hyperion lay down on the tarmac on his back and switched off his optics. Heavy tears began to spill down the sides of his head.

-o-o-o-o-o-

" **Grapple's Choice" continues in Chapter 2: Resurrection**

-o-o-o-o-o-

Thank you for reading. Six chapters to follow! If you liked any of it, please comment or review. Feedback is appreciated by most authors, myself especially.

-o-o-o-o-o-

 **Author Notes**

 **Terast** – Greek for 'monster.' They're big, dangerous, and not the sort of thing you want to face on the battlefield. However their size makes them much like great danes... they're gentle and quiet when not needing to be active, conserving energy by moving slowly and keeping movement itself to a minimum.

 **Erebus Nebula** – Inspired by a short story in _SpaceWreck: Ghost Ships and Derelicts of Space_ (US ISBN 0896730220) by Stewart Cowley. As a kid, reading this book and poring of the pictures brought such a sense of wonder and sometimes horror. The two pictures of different spacecraft encased in ice stick with me even today, and the concept of being entombed in ice is truly frightening.

I gave the nebula the name of Erebus for two reasons. First, Erebus: _was often conceived as a primordial deity_ , _representing the personification of darkness; for instance, Hesiod's Theogeny identifies him as one of the first five beings in existence, born of Chaos... In Greek literature the name Erebus is also used of a region of the Greek underworld where the dead pass immediately after dying, and is sometimes used interchangeably with Tartarus._ (Wikipedia)

Also, the HMS Erebus was one of the two ships of the ill-fated Frankin expedition. For those of you unfamiliar with this fascinating bit of history, the Frankin expedition set sail in 1845 to seek the elusive Northwest Passage. The expedition was lost, the ships having become repeatedly trapped in the ice. All 129 members of the expedition died over the course of their arctic ordeal. The wreck of the _Erebus_ was found in September 2014 at the bottom of Queen Maud Gulf.

 **The Terast Symbol** – More than just a simple logo as you'll learn when the story progresses.

 **Six Octads** – 4 million years

 **Thirteen Octads** – 8.5 million years.


	2. Resurrection

**Grapple's Choice**

-o-o-o-o-o-

 **Chapter 2: Resurrection**

-o-o-o-o-o-

For a week the broken-hearted terast lay there without moving, the fierce summer sun baking him from sunrise to sunset. At night the pinging of his metal lasted well into the darkness as his frame cooled. Sometimes he wept over the loss of Stoker, huge tears of optic wash draining across his faceplate and sliding down the four long antennae that sprouted from the sides of his head. And as he lay there, Sundog and First Aid continued to work on his repairs, bringing his frame back to a perfect pre-freeze condition. Often Apex sat with him or inside of him, and sometimes one or two of the Aerialbots would take a turn. But respectful of his mourning for the lost fueler they spoke little, only touching his hands or leaning up against him.

Hyperion moved only once—when they took him to see the frame of Stoker to bring a bit of closure. After the fueler's corpse had been initially examined it had been placed into storage, realizing that when they were able to bring the terast team back to an operational status, chances were that the fueler's frame or at least parts of it would be needed. And on seeing the lifeless Stoker, the huge flyer knelt, antennae quivering. He gently picked it up the small frame, cradled it to his chest, and held it tightly as he sobbed, his deep sorrow bringing tears to the other mechs around.

"Stoker was his carrier," said Apex softly, a statement that elicited a collective gasp from the others present.

"His carrier? No one mentioned that before."

"A parent and a gestalt member as well?"

"All of the terasts in our particular line were adult-builds rather than reformats," explained Sundog. "The spark usually came from either the fueler or the mechanic. Stoker was working as a munitions handler in Iacon, and had been sparked for some time when he heard about the terast program. He had not yet been able to obtain a frame for his sparkling, so it was a good option for him. It was for a lot of carriers at the time."

Bluestreak, one of the escorting Autobots, broke away from the others, rushed to Hyperion's side and embraced him. "I was just a sparkling when I lost my carrier and my sire as well," he whispered, clinging to the kneeling mech. "I know what you're feeling."

Hyperion looked down at the grey gunner beside him, and then with one hand scooped him up and pressed him to his chest as well. Others came forward and held onto the terast, the tearful group becoming a shuddering mass of wet, mournful metal, the loss of loved ones known by all present.

-o-o-o-o-o-

The eighth day of his resumed life began as the previous ones had, but in the afternoon a summer thunderstorm rolled in from the northwest. Startled out of his near-catatonic state by a deluge of torrential rain, Hyperion rose and shambled into the hangar, where he was warmly received by the Aerialbots and his teammates. Apex and Sundog made him as comfortable as possible, showing him the large berth that had been assembled for him. Too large for any of the chairs on hand, the berth would also serve as a place to sit as well until appropriately sized furniture could be obtained for him. And at last he was ready to talk, his two smaller teammates catching him up on the state of the war and about Optimus Prime's group on Earth just as the Autobot leader had done for them.

-o-o-o-o-o-

"We will need energon for Hyperion, and a way to pump it through a hose to refuel him," Sundog explained to Jetfire. Like the others, Ratchet had only partially filled his tanks before reviving him

"Oh? Are the cubes too small for him to drink from?'' Omega Supreme required someone to fill his tank as well, through one of several fueling ports.

"The terasts have no esophageal tube. Energon must be pumped in by the fueler through a chest port."

Jetfire nodded. "I think we can fix something up easily enough."

An hour later Jetfire was back with Grapple and Huffer and a stack of energon cubes atop a maintenance cart. A small pump unit had been affixed to a long hose. The short end was submerged into the bottom of the first cube, and the long end of the hose terminated in a narrow nozzle. "It may take some time to fill him, but it should do the trick," said Huffer, handing the nozzle to Grapple.

Hyperion, sitting on the floor inside the hangar looking glum as ever, had lifted his aquamarine-blue optics at the sight of the cart full of cubes. He brightened at seeing Grapple approach with the hose.

"Where at, big guy?" the yellow mech asked, looking up at the Terast.

Hyperion, apparently eager to be fed, pointed to a panel on his lower chest which slid open with a sucking hiss, revealing a round intake valve.

"I can fuel him," offered Sundog, who had been looking over the pump assembly.

"I've got this. There's not some trick to it, is there?"

"Not at all. It is pretty straightforward. Place the nozzle into the chest intake and turn on the pump," she explained. "There is more for a fueler mech, but nothing you need to worry about now."

Hyperion nodded in confirmation, his optics never leaving the end of the hose.

Grapple was tall enough to reach the fueling port, and he gently eased the nozzle at the end of the hose into it. Wiggling it a little to be sure the end of the line was securely in place, he gave Huffer a thumbs-up sign.

Huffer switched on the pump at half-power and pink energon began to flow through the hose.

Grapple could hear a couple of mechanisms snap on or open inside of the terast, and when the energon began to drain into his tank, the big mech smiled down at the architect. "Thank you," Hyperion said softly.

"Anything," Grapple said obligingly, smiling back up at him.

The terast switched off his optics and settled slightly with a sigh.

When Huffer tapped the fourth cube, Hyperion switched his optics back on and looked again at the yellow mech standing beside him. To Grapple's surprise, Hyperion's huge hand came up, curled gently around his back, and his opposite hand began to pet him gently as he held onto the fueling hose. "Oh!" Grapple gasped. "You're friendly."

The terast only pulled the mech closer to his side.

"He always held onto Stoker during refueling," said Sundog. She was now at Hyperion's hip opening up a set of panels, appearing to be checking something in his internals. "Fueling was something of a special time for them. Stoker would fuel him and I would perform any needed maintenance."

::Am I doing it okay?:: Grapple sent privately to her. In the doorway of the room, the one that led to the main room of the hangar, three of the five Aerialbots stood watching with Jetfire.

::You are doing it just fine. He seems to be enjoying it.::

::He is smiling.::

::I saw. But if you would rather that he did not touch you, I will tell him not to.::

::I don't mind. It's kinda nice actually. Those big hands feel so different from what I'm used to.::

There was a giggle over the comm' from Sundog. ::You get used to big hands quickly when part of a terast team. And... ::

::And what?::

Another giggle. ::Nothing.::

-o-o-o-o-o-

Two days later the alarm was raised—the month-long lull in Decepticon activity had come to an end as reports of their taking over a military installation in China came in. A message from Apex immediately pinged onto the network. ::Lead us there and we will fight.::

::Are you sure?:: came the message from Optimus Prime. ::You've not even been active a deca-cycle yet.::

::We are ready. Ratchet approved our physical condition and Prowl did put us on the active duty roster. Hyperion has been flight tested.::

::But you've not seen any action in at least thirteen octads.::

Apex was undaunted. ::All the more reason to start up again.::

::If you're sure then, follow the Aerialbots out. They'll lead the way.::

Saying a quick goodbye to Sundog, Apex and Hyperion ran out of the hangar. Hyperion transformed, Apex boarded, and Hyperion took off in pursuit of the Aerialbots. He put on some speed to catch up, and there came calls of welcome as he caught up to the flyers whose hangar the terast shared. Jetfire soon joined the formation, moving into position so Optimus and the team of seven more grounders he carried could see Hyperion in flight, his beautiful multi-tonal plating catching the sunlight so nicely.

As they flew over the Pacific Ocean, Optimus and Ironhide briefed Apex and Hyperion on the Decepticon tactics used on this planet, giving them a rundown of what to expect in battle.

"Megatron himself!" gasped Apex as the satellite footage came in via Cosmos and Blaster.

"Ever fought him?" Ironhide asked.

"Fought him? I have never actually seem him in person!"

A round of advice regarding meeting the Decepticon high command on the battlefield followed. "Best thing you can do though, is to defeat Starscream," Ironhide half-instructed, half-joked. "If you can take him down and toss him in front of Megatron, ol' Megs gets so annoyed at his second's failure that he's more likely to use his fusion cannon on Starscream than he is on you."

"Is he really that petty and distracted?" Apex asked.

"Really. Though watch out for Soundwave and the cone-heads. They're unwaveringly loyal and mostly immune to any internal drama that unfolds," Prowl continued.

"Point noted."

-o-o-o-o-o-

On the approach to the captured base, Optimus Prime ordered the Aerialbots into formation. With an eager shout they assumed an attack pattern. "Apex! Hyperion! Link up!" he then called to the terast team, remembering the old commands. He was grinning beneath his mask. He'd been unsure about their battle readiness at first, but Ratchet and First Aid had checked out all of Hyperion's and Apex's systems independently of Sundog, and even before the terast had recovered from the shock of losing his parent and teammate Ratchet had declared them battle-worthy. And now the Autobot leader was excited to be in command of a terast, something he'd never expected to experience again.

"Pilot engaging!" Apex called as he folded into his alt-mode and crawled on his cables to the back of the small cabin. After awakening and his initial examination in the medbay, Ratchet had made him transform.

The humans, as well as a number of the younger Autobots, having never seen a core-former before were stunned if not a little creeped out. "His alt-mode is an octopus hiding under a treasure chest?" Spike had stuttered. He'd been expecting a sleek flashy Cybertronian vehicle as Sundog was.

"I suppose that's what it would look like to you," Ratchet had laughed, crouching beside the block of circuitry upon its cluster of six prehensile, armored nerve-cables.

At the rear of the cabin Hyperion opened an indentation in the floor. Apex dropped into it, settling the 'treasure chest' part of him into the perfect cradle and sending his nerve cables into the conduits that ran through most of Hyperion's frame. "Initiating binary bond!" he called and linked up to the terast's massive body.

An electro-magnetic surge of light and radiation rippled out from the terast's nervous system, a wave of warmth pulsing through the other six jets en-route.

"What was that?" asked a puzzled Sunstreaker. "Did someone just have the hardest, quickest overload ever?"

A laugh and a confident polyphonic voice came through the comm' system. "That was me, Terast Apex, coming online."

"Do I want to know what you two are doing over there?" Sunstreaker questioned.

"There is just one of us. Hyperion and Apex are a single entity now," resonated the voice, sounding neither like Apex's smooth lilt nor Hyperion's shy words.

"Quite a way to wake up, isn't it?" Optimus Prime asked, still sighing at the lingering charge humming through his systems.

"I've missed that feeling," Ironhide sighed. "There was nothing like being in the middle of a battle, pinned down by the Decepticons, wondering how you were ever going to survive this one, when suddenly you'd feel those fields bursting and you suddenly knew that Primus had smiled upon you."

"I am glad we're remembered so fondly," Terast Apex said.

Brawn was venting heavily, his cooling fans whirring in short spurts. "I think I'll remember that very fondly."

Windcharger, the other mini-bot along on the mission, chuckled beside him. "A nice little jolt like that before a fight? I think I could grow to really like these terasts."

-o-o-o-o-o-

The Decepticons that remembered the terasts remembered them with much less fondness. When Terast Apex transformed from jet-mode into his root form, dropped into their midst, and began throwing Constructicons about, there rose a collective feeling of dread. Megatron immediately gave the command to form Devastator, but it was already too late for that. Half of the Constructicons were already offline. The combat speed of the opponent was impressive for his size.

The Aerialbots took care of the seekers in the sky while the ground force began mopping up after Terast Apex, though there was considerably little for them to do, the might of the enormous warrior unhindered by anything Megatron could currently bring into play.

When the Decepticons retreated and abandoned the installation, Optimus sought out Terast Apex and congratulated him warmly. "Welcome back to service after all this time. I'm glad to see the terast forces are as powerful as I remembered." The younger Autobots all watched in stunned silence as the huge terast dropped to one knee before the prime and bowed his head submissively. Optimus put his hand upon the terast's helm.

"It is an honor to serve again," chimed the multi-tonal voice. The mech's greenish-blue optics shuttered as he pressed his head into the prime's palm.

-o-o-o-o-o-

Sundog joyfully welcomed home her teammates the next morning, congratulating them on their success in battle, and for having proved their old technology was still quite viable. "And Megatron himself was there too!" Apex told her.

"It was good to fight again," Hyperion said as he sat down on the hangar floor so that she could begin repairs to the damages he'd taken.

"I expect that you are quite hungry," she said. "That was a long journey there and back, even without the fight."

Hyperion nodded timidly. "I am." As Terast Apex he was bold and confident, but without his symbiote in place he was quiet and reserved most of the time.

"I have Grapple on the way with the pump and some energon. He should be here soon."

A smile touched his lip components. "The mechs at this base are all very nice. At least the ones I have met," said Hyperion. "I hope they will let us stay, at least for a while."

"I do not know why they would not want us to stay. Though they might move us elsewhere depending on their forces," answered Apex. "This planet is larger than Cybertron." He stood with his hands on his hips, looking about the hangar room he now thought of as home, despite having been there such a short time. Returning to it after a battle had given it that feeling.

Hyperion's optics brightened when he saw Grapple arrive towing the cart full of energon cubes behind him, and he moved into position immediately, expecting to be fed. Just then, Silverbolt came into their section of the hangar with an arm dribbling transfluid. "Excuse me... Sundog? Could I beg you to give me a little hand here, just enough to stop the bleeding. The patch I put on it right after the battle isn't holding any longer."

"Let me look. I would expect that it is not much to fix." The femme instructed the Aerialbot leader to lie on the floor and she began popping open panels on his arm to see where the damage was.

"I've got this if you want to keep working on Silverbolt," Grapple said. "The system's a bit primitive but one person can work it."

"All right. Thank you," she smiled back at him and began to determine what repairs Silverbolt would need.

Grapple carefully unwound the hose and inserted the pump's intake into the top cube. "I heard the battle went well over there," he said as he worked the nozzle end of the long hose into the mech's chest port. It was an awkward location for fuel tank access, and he could see why a fueler was needed to make it easier for the big mech. The jet's arms did not bend too well to the right angle. And it did make sense to have a separate member of the team oversee the energon supply, freeing up the pilot to lead the team and worry about the combat portion of their duties, and freeing up the mechanic to worry about maintaining the terast's condition.

He went over and turned on the pump himself, energon filling the line and running up into the mech's chest, at which Hyperion smiled even more and began to relax.

Grapple leaned against Hyperion's frame as he continued to fill the larger mech's empty tank—the journey there and back and the battle inbetween having drained him to an uncomfortably low level. As each cube emptied he moved the intake of the pump into a fresh one. Perhaps in future they could connect the cubes into one larger one to make the process a bit smoother.

As the seventh cube emptied, Grapple switched off the pump and looked up to the terast, who, as had been expected, was smiling down at him. "Is that enough?" he asked, his hand still on the pump's switch.

"I would like more," Hyperion said softly.

Grapple moved the intake into the next cube—he'd brought ten—and switched the pump on again. From what he'd learned, the fueler was primarily an ambulatory energon tank, capable of keeping more than a hundred cubes' worth within his subspace. The pump within him could feed the terast easily, using a specialized nozzle and a set of gauges that would report precisely how much energon the terast had room for, and how much remained inside of himself. Apparently down time for a fueler was spent lying in the sunshine absorbing solar radiation, or deploying a specialized thermal tap, both methods of which could create more fuel to supplement what was obtained from the regular supplies. The fueler was also responsible for the upkeep of the terast's plating and would be expected to wash and paint and polish it as needed, along with obtaining the minerals and raw metals the nanites needed to maintain the mech from inside. No wonder Stoker had given his newspark to be formatted as a terast. He could look after his child completely even if the poor thing had to go into battle.

"Grapple?" Hyperion whispered.

Grapple turned to look at the terast. He'd gotten used to Hyperion's touch—the mech had been stroking his helm and shoulders off and on through the fueling process—and now he picked Grapple up in his hands and looked at him more closely. "Yes?" It was strange to be held as such. There weren't many mechs capable of actually lifting his large frame off of the ground.

"Tonight... We heard there is going to be a party. Is that true?"

"A victory party? Of course."

The answer pleased the terast. "Will you be there?"

"I will."

Another smile. "I'm glad."

And then Hyperion set him back down, his hands now moving to the long thin hose through which the precious energon trickled into him. His fingers stroked the hose with surprising delicacy, and then he reached for Grapple again.

Grapple tried not to sigh at the touch, but could not help himself as the terast petted him fondly, and surprisingly gently. As had happened before, a strange charge had built between them during the refueling process, and he found that he enjoyed it.

-o-

-o-o-o-

-o-o-o-o-o-

" **Grapple's Choice" continues in Chapter 3: Opportunities**

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-o-

Thank you for reading. Five chapters to follow, and the next one contains one of the funniest moments I've ever written!

-o-o-o-o-o-

 _Transformers_ and all related concepts, characters, worlds, and events are property of Hasbro and Takara Tomy. Original characters and story elements are property of E. Potter, writing under the pen name of Miratete.

-o-o-o-o-o-

 **Author Notes**

 **Binary-bonding** – It's canon. I can claim the terasts as my creation, but the linking of two beings to create a superior war machine is already part of the TF universe. I envision Hyperion as being very quiet and shy, and feeling somewhat awkward about his size, and Apex is just a nice guy that everyone likes. But when you meld the two, you get this huge, indomitable kick-ass Autobot that's not going to let anything slow him on the battlefield.

 **The Inspiration** – This story came about as a result of a prompt upon Tfanonkink:

Req, any-verse, airplane x small bot, feeding, size, clumsiness (dom/sub?)

2015-03-31 09:35 pm

I've seen this at the Vienna airport.  
When the plane lands and is being prepared for the next flight, a smaller car rolls to under its wings. The fuel intake is on the lower side of the wing, and the fuel tunnels run under ground level. So here comes this little cute car, plugs one tube into the ground reserve and another into the wing, and "feeds" the plane.

And then I remembered how clumsy and non-poseable some TFs (especially the older and larger ones) are, and considered how cute this scene would be with Cybertronians. Even if the plane transforms, he's too large and clumsy and he just can't bend his wings to an angle where he could feed on his own. So here comes the smaller but moveable one, and helps him :)

Kinks:  
\- Feeding.  
\- Innocent and not-so innocent teasing, touching, giving small signs to each other only the other can understand. (EM play?)  
\- Preferably nonsticky. If sticky, it can happen either before, during or after the feeding.  
\- Fully consensual. The big plane is not ashamed of his inability and might be able to ask for some other's help instead.  
\- Huge size difference. Perhaps age difference too.  
\- Can be AU or you might fit it into an existing 'verse. If you go for IDW or TFP verse, the small bot is of higher caste (managing fuel rations) while the big one is a mere labour worker.  
\- The small bot also checking the big one for injuries, and taking proper care if he finds any. He is granted access to all the big one's parts :)  
\- Can either be public or done in private.

Yes please:  
\- I would prefer if the plane's description were based on some real life TF figure's, for example Stratosphere from the Bayverse line.  
\- The plane transforms before / during feeding.  
\- Established pair, preferably.  
\- If the plane had another feeder before, they used some other method back then.

Please no:  
\- Serious bargaining for the fuel, or the big one being forced into something he feels ashamed of only to get fed. Slight, cute teasing is fine!  
\- Mistaking the fuel tubes for anything else.  
\- The plane being the boss.

If you would write a slavery AU where the plane is the (valued and well taken care of!) property of his feeder, I would sooo not oppose :)


	3. Opportunities

**Grapple's Choice**

-o-o-o-o-o-

 **Chapter 3: Opportunities**

-o-o-o-o-o-

-o-o-o-o-o-

 **Chapter 3: Opportunities**

-o-o-o-o-o-

The Autobot victory party that night was held in the entryway of the Ark. As expected there was plentiful high-grade and loud music and enough raucous socializing to satisfy even the most enthusiastic among them. Sideswipe and Sunstreaker had a special 'guest' with them. An unconscious Thrust had been left behind on the battlefield and the two frontliners had brought the downed seeker all the way home as a joke. Now he stood between them, locked up with several pairs of stasis cuffs and a pair of shackles. Sunstreaker had welded a loop to the Decepticon's upper chest and had attached a chain to it, giving the pair a demeaning sort of leash to yank their guest around with.

But despite the messages regarding 'proper treatment of prisoners' from Optimus, and the nervous 'threat to security' messages from Red Alert, and the 'what the Pit are you thinking' snarls from Prowl, the two refused to settle their prize in the brig. In fact, despite the focus of the party being a celebration of the Decepticon defeat in their latest scheme, Thrust seemed to actually be having a good time. He was well on his way to the biggest overcharge of his life, not wanting to say no to the doses of high-grade being poured down his throat, obtained simply by admitting Autobot superiority or spouting some demeaning comment regarding a member of his faction. Stating that Starscream was a 'whiny bitch' had earned him not only a shot of high-grade but several kisses. His sincerity in saying it had garnered the promise of an illicit jail-cell visit.

Apex hovered at the center of the party, surrounded by quite a few others, all amazed at the performance of the terast in China, astounded how effective the ancient technology was against the modern Decepticons. And he found an eager audience for his stories of battle, his blue-green visor flashing excitedly on points of emphasis and his hands gesturing with something of a sign language. He spoke with such a flair that his audience hung on every word. Sundog smiled and hung on his arm. Now and then the two would go over to stand close to their third member. The terast had tried to be something of a wallflower, sitting at the edge of the carousing and quietly observing, but his teammates weren't about to let him get away so easily.

At some point in the festivities, Sundog managed to lead Grapple off to a quiet hallway, away from the noisy entry bay of the Ark. "I wanted to thank you again for being so good about fueling Hyperion. Just having someone regular to fuel him makes things seem a little more normal, even though you're not Stoker. Despite that huge powerful body he's very gentle and sensitive in his spark."

"I could tell that."

Sundog looked up into Grapple's optics. "Tomorrow... Optimus Prime is going to call a meeting. We want you to be there."

"I did get a message regarding that. What's it about?"

"It's about us. About the terast. Will you come?"

"I did schedule it in."

The mechanic smiled and placed a hand on his forearm. "Good."

Later yet, Apex caught Grapple and pulled him to the side. "Our team's going back to the hangar for a bit of a private victory celebration," the pilot said in a low voice, the intonation explaining exactly what sort of a party it was going to be. For a moment Grapple's eyes brightened. They wanted him? Really?

But he'd made other plans. Well... Hoist had made other plans. In fact the doctor had been sending him saucy messages all evening, their level of coherence sinking as the level of high-grade in the doctor's system rose. "I'm sorry. I already accepted another invitation tonight," he apologized to Apex.

Disappointment flickered for a moment across Apex's visor. "A shame. But there will be other victory celebrations and other parties. And... if you change your mind you know where to find us."

Grapple sighed as Apex disappeared back into the party, now bouncing along with some lively pop tune that Blaster was blaring. It would have been amazing to join the terast team, and he would have liked to. A suave core-former with such long tentacles, a medically-trained femme, and a broken-hearted terast... that had to be an interfacing fantasy come true for any mech. Hopefully there _would_ be another time, and he hoped doubly so when he realized the terast's sad optics were upon him from across the room. The invitation had probably been Hyperion's idea, but he'd gotten his charming team leader to deliver it.

Those sad eyes...

His EM field threatening to flare, he sent a message to Hoist. ::I can't wait any longer. Let's go now.::

-o-o-o-o-o-

The next morning Grapple entered the conference room next to the bridge, joining a number of other bots there already and those coming in as he was. A few were still shaking off the effects of the previous night's party. He took the empty seat next to Beachcomber and scanned the room's other occupants. Apex and Sundog were there talking to Optimus Prime and Prowl, and the four soon sat to begin the meeting.

After greetings, Optimus cut right to the chase regarding the reason for the assembly. "As you all know, the newly recovered terast team did magnificently in battle against the Decepticons two days ago. We have decided to make them a permanent part of our offensive capability here on Earth."

There were delighted murmurs from the gathered Autobots.

"And as you also know, one of their team did not survive the long stasis-lock in the Erebus Nebula. We will be seeking to fill that position with someone from our forces here. When we left Cybertron six octads ago, we had a higher percentage of support staff over warrior-types owing to the nature of the mission. But now that we've settled here and are fighting our battles on Earth, that staff fills a less-critical role. Hence, one of you will be taking this position."

Grapple glanced about again, and there wasn't a warrior to be seen in the room, save for the ones leading it. Instead the seats were filled by mechs with functions such as his own.

"It would be a good job for one of us," drawled Beachcomber next to him, looking about as well.

Suddenly Gears stood up and put his hands on his hips indignantly. "I see what's going on here!" he grouched. "One of us is getting reformatted into a gas pump to fuel up that big monster of a mech. And, well, it's not going to be me!" With that he stomped out amid wide-eyed stares of astonishment. And everyone stared after him, stunned at his sudden and embarrassing little outburst.

It was Smokescreen who broke the awkward silence that followed. "I say we reformat Gears into a gas pump anyway and install him at the Pump 'n' Munch down at the corner of County Road 14 and the interstate," he said, rising from his seat.

"Seconded!" called someone from the back.

When the laughter died down Optimus Prime returned to the focus of the meeting. "Gears is right. We are looking for a fuel pump for the terast. Only it won't be a reformat, but a spark transfer instead." He handed off the lecture to Apex.

"Our fueler's frame is intact. It will be far simpler to transfer a spark into that body rather than to rebuild another mech into a tanker. The subspace engineering that would be required alone is a phenomenal amount of work. A terast's fueler can carry up to five times his own mass in subspace."

"No wonder they phased out the terasts when energon ran low," Beachcomber muttered to Grapple. "A pocket is one thing, but five times? How much fuel does the big guy need?"

"I wonder what it feels like, having that much subspace," Grapple wondered aloud.

Apex continued. "While the terast is the muscle, the fueler looks after the terast's needs. The size and armor and general build makes a terast a bit ponderous outside of battle, so he needs help with some things. Due to the nature of our team, we do not wish to take any mechs who are spark-bonded to another. Nor do we want to pull any of this garrison's critical players. And for obvious reasons, any mech taking this position will be taken out of combat duty." He looked about the assembly. "If any of you are interested in this position, please submit your designation, a brief biography and duty record, and your schedule for the next orn to me. My team will be joining candidates over the next orn on their regular duties and we'll be getting to know you all a lot better.

He paused again, this time smiling welcomingly. Grapple was sure he heard a cooling fan click on inside the mech behind him as the pilot's gaze passed over slowly, the terast leader taking inventory of the assembled Autobots again. "Any questions?"

Perceptor piped right up. "Where will be the team be stationed? Here at the Ark or elsewhere on Earth?"

Optimus answered. "Due to the mobile nature of the terast we plan to manage the team as we do the Aerialbots. They will be stationed here at the Ark and sent out on assignment as needed."

"How different is the fueler's frame? I mean, how does one handle all that subspace?" jumped in Beachcomber.

As Apex answered the question, a message came from Sundog to Grapple. ::I do hope you'll submit an application.::

::Please submit one?:: came Hyperion's shy encouragement in a simultaneous message. Though not present he was apparently listening in on the meeting.

Grapple began to get the feeling that he'd already been selected to fill the position, and that the meeting and interview process was simply a formality.

-o-o-o-o-o-

There was much talk about the replacement of the fueler through the day, and by sunset six candidates had presented themselves for the interview period; Grapple was among them. That evening he sat in the quarters he shared with Inferno, the two of them talking with Red Alert and Hoist over a cube of high-grade purchased from the twins.

"The chosen candidate will basically be replacing his carrier," Grapple sighed against Hoist's shoulder, the pair cuddling on the couch. Inferno lay stretched across the plush rug in the center of the room, Red Alert lounging against his bigger companion. "A terast's team is a four-part entity, but it usually happens that the terast and either the mechanic or the fueler are the closest, whether by relation or bonding. Sundog said that bondmates or family members were often chosen for the two roles when a new team was being assembled. In their particular series of terasts, all of the terasts were adult-builds."

"How old is he?" Red Alert asked. "Not counting the thirteen octads in stasis-lock, of course," he amended.

"Not counting that, Sundog said he was about four vorns old."

Red Alert made a clicking noise. "Only four vorns? Just a child!"

"What's he like? You and Huffer fueled him, right?"

"Hyperion's very sweet and shy, and yes, still very much a child emotionally. There's a lot of pain in his spark over the loss of Stoker. You just look at his faceplate and you can see the sadness there. But he knows that Stoker has to be replaced if they're to continue as a team, and he wants that and wants to reach out to someone, but he's still so deep in mourning right now. He tries to keep it hidden because he knows this is a war and all, but still..."

"Poor guy," Red Alert said sadly.

Inferno kissed Red Alert's hand, dangling from where his lover's elbow rested on the larger mech's chassis. "I feel sorry for him."

"I do too," Grapple sighed.

"You'd be good to him," Hoist said encouragingly. "Even good for him. But... would they be good to you?"

"I think so. The mechanic is really nice, and Apex, the pilot, he's a good guy too. Don't let that handsome face and suave demeanor fool you."

"How much do you want to join them though? It would be a big commitment," Red Alert asked, thinking hard about the situation.

Grapple sighed again. "It _would_ be a big commitment and a huge change. I'd have to get used to a new frame and a new job... the body of the dead fueler..."

"And you'd be comfortable with that?"

"I know it seems a bit strange, but Apex is right. It makes the most sense. Stoker's spark departed during the long stasis lock, but the frame is intact. And it's _just_ a frame."

"I'd just have to put you into it instead of Wheeljack trying to reconfigure your own frame," Hoist said matter-of-factly. "Much less work."

"That's what was said at the meeting. I know that Huffer's put in for the position. He's got a hot manifold for that mechanic. But who wouldn't?" Grapple laughed.

The others joined in. "She's not bad for a femme that was never a pleasurebot."

"You've been around her a bit, Grapple. She as good as she looks?"

"She's very nice to everyone, but, and don't say anything to anyone, but I think Silverbolt's her favorite. She seems just a little sweeter on him than anyone else. At least that's what I've noticed every time I've seen them together in the hangar. The Aerialbots aren't sharing any gossip, so who knows."

"Lucky flyer..." Inferno sighed. "Though that core-former's quite something. I wouldn't mind getting wrapped up in his nerve-cables.

"Inferno!" Red Alert huffed jealously.

Inferno sat up quickly and pulled the officer in tighter. "So? And don't act so surprised. You know I'm attracted to smaller mechs," he said, kissing Red Alert on the closest sensor horn, causing it to spark.

::You would be good for him:: sent Hoist to Grapple, who had risen to fill their drinking cups again, not wanting to disturb the tickle fight that had broken out on the rug. Red Alert and Inferno's cuddling often devolved into such childish struggles, only to be followed by a rather tactile interface in Inferno's berth or against the work console in Red's office.

::I think I would. At least I like to think I would.::

::Don't be so modest. You know you would. You've always wanted to be a parent,:: Hoist said encouragingly.

::The job opening is for a fueler. Not a parent.:: He gave the doctor a look, only to find the doctor smiling back at him, who then held out his hand for his cup.

-o-

-o-o-o-

-o-o-o-o-o-

" **Grapple's Choice" continues in Chapter 4: A New Creation**

-o-o-o-o-o-

-o-o-o-

-o-

Feedback welcome! Commentary welcome!

 _Transformers_ and all related concepts, characters, worlds, and events are property of Hasbro and Takara Tomy. Original characters and story elements are property of E. Potter, writing under the pen name of Miratete.

-o-o-o-o-o-

 **Author Notes**

 **The Party** – Okay, the first two paragraphs of this chapter have to be some of the best written and funniest moments I've published. I love how it came out.

 **The Interfacing Fantasy** – Seriously, that would have to be one heck of a good four-way if you were a Cybertronian. The handsome, confident guy with the tentacles, the friendly femme that knows exactly where to touch, and the beautifully sad guy who needs to be loved and comforted.

 **Pump n' Munch** – An MST3K reference, a show of which I'm a big fan. And there actually is an intersection of County Road 402/ Hwy 14 and an interstate not too far from where I live. Just had to throw it in there.


	4. A New Creation

**Grapple's Choice**

-o-o-o-o-o-

 **Chapter 4: A New Creation**

-o-o-o-o-o-

Grapple on-lined to find all sorts of messages from his new frame welcoming the new processors and the new spark. It seemed like only yesterday that he'd been getting the same messages on awakening on Earth. And booting up his optics he found Hoist there leaning over him, waiting to welcome him as well. "Good morning little sparkling," the doctor teased lovingly, his EM field all aglow and his hand stroking his faceplate.

"How did it go?"

"Beautifully. Welcome to your new frame," said Wheeljack, coming into view.

"How does it look on me?"

"Gorgeous. The color suits your optics. And you look lovely wearing all that subspace," purred Hoist

Grapple stared at the ceiling into the observation window above. Several faces peered back down, smiling and offering up tiny waves of greeting, at which Grapple smiled back. "I can feel it. I feel... bigger than I did before, but like I'm smaller at the same time."

"That's a good way to describe it. Physically you are smaller, but there's much more of you now," supplied Wheeljack.

"How long did it take?"

"You've been unconscious about five days, though admittedly we took our time since there was no need to hurry."

"I think we can pull the umbilicals," called Ratchet from a monitor nearby. "He's stable."

Hoist began unhooking the hanging cables and tubes that had sustained the architect during the long transfer of his processors and spark to the fueler's frame. And when the last cord was unplugged, Grapple smiled and reached for Hoist. "Help me up. All this subspace is heavy."

Hoist laughed and assisted him into a sitting position, and once Grapple found his equilibrium he eased him from the medberth to the floor. "It make take some time to adjust, but you'll learn to walk soon enough. And once you've got walking down we can work on transforming."

"I hope that's not too difficult."

"It shouldn't be hard. The fueler's frame actually has fewer transformation joints and hinges than your previous alt-mode did."

Grapple looked over at the empty body on the berth nearby, stripped of its processors, faceplate, vocalizer, and a few other parts, along with its soul. It had been decided that Grapple's faceplace should replace that of Stoker's, and thankfully few adjustments to its dimensions had been needed. The body would go into the morgue, kept for spare parts or should someone else need reformatting to an Earthian frame.

"I'm going to let Apex and the others know the transfer's complete. They've been anxiously awaiting news," announced Ratchet.

Ten minutes later, a wobbly Grapple found himself in the eager arms of his new teammates, the three excitedly embracing him. Hyperion was literally in tears as his hand carefully stroked the new faceplate with the tip of his finger. "I loved Stoker so much, and I love you too now," he sniffled. "I know you're not him, but I am glad you have his place." The huge mech lifted the new fueler from the medbay berth and cradled him to his chest, pressing his face affectionately against Grapple's.

Grapple felt overwhelmed, and a bit guilty with Hoist standing right there. But as if Hoist could read his thoughts a message came in. ::He needs you... very much. Take good care of him.::

He gave the doctor a smile. ::Thank you, Hoist. You're always so good to me.::

-o-o-o-o-o-

Grapple's reformat was deemed a cause for celebration and there was a party in the rec-room that night. And although he could barely walk or control his EM field, the guest of honor was grabbed by Ironhide, Air Raid, the twins, and Windcharger, who placed him into a chair and connected him to the Ark's central energon supply line that ran down from the solar collectors. "What are you doing?" he balked.

"Seeing how much you can hold." The feed was turned on and he felt the thick pink liquid begin to flow into the huge reservoir inside of him. Reports regarding his capacity immediately began to run through his fuel management processor. And so he sat, getting used to yet one more strange feeling associated with his new frame.

Apex and Sundog, keeping close to their new member, insisted that filling to capacity was unnecessary. The others insisted that his first loading be to the brim of the reservoir.

At forty-eight cubes Ironhide pushed an eighth-cube of high-grade into Grapple's hands. "Here. Drink this. See if you'll fill any faster."

Grapple grinned and he drank, but knew full well that while his own tank pulled from the reservoir, the reservoir would not pull from his personal system.

A cheer rose at one hundred cubes, and at a hundred and twenty the warnings came in that top-off was imminent. At a hundred and twenty-two the warnings grew insistent and Grapple began to feel a strange pressure from his subspace, and he began begging for them to turn off the feed lest any be wasted.

"One hundred and twenty-four cubes! You are full!" Sundog beamed and she began to retract the fill hose into its storage compartment.

"I can't believe I'm holding that much energon," Grapple said in amazement, patting his new, much smaller frame.

::Later, would you fill me?:: came a message from Hyperion.

Glancing to the side Grapple found Hyperion smiling at him. ::What about now?::

::Not now. Later. With just the team. We are four again. That's special to us.:: He reached up to the terast logo on his chest, tapped each of the three stars with his index finger, and then traced the halo. And for the first time Grapple realized what the symbol represented.

Grapple smiled back, placing his hand atop his own terast logo. ::All right.::

"How are you feeling?" Sideswipe asked, knocking on the panel that held Grapple's hose almost as soon as Sundog had closed it up.

"I feel... full. But good."

"Good," the red mech grinned. "Next party we're going to fill you up with high-grade and you get to play waitress."

"Great..." Grapple groaned.

-o-o-o-o-o-

Before the party began to show any signs of winding down Apex led his team back to their room in the Aerialbots hangar. He kept one arm around Grapple as they returned, Grapple still being a bit unsure on his feet but at least he could walk somewhat now. And once he mastered walking, they'd teach him to transform and then to fly. While Apex and Sundog were land-bound, the terast and the fueler had flying alt-modes.

"Prime gave me the go-ahead for designing and building a hangar for our team," Grapple said. "We'll be able to give the Aerialbots their home back."

"That sounds wonderful!" exclaimed Sundog, hanging onto Grapple's arm. "Not that I mind sharing quarters with the Aerialbots, but it will be nice to have a place of our own, like we did on Cybertron."

"Oil bath," said Apex. "Make sure you include an oil bath."

"Definitely," agreed Sundog.

Grapple laughed. "If I build an oil bath large enough to fit Hyperion you know that everyone else is going to be over using it.

"I am certainly willing to share it if means having one. So what if our hanger becomes the popular place to be. They're a good crew."

Grapple grinned at the thought of a huge pool of perfectly heated oil, filled with weary and sighing post-battle warriors, all glad of the soothing comfort the bath could give. His mind flitted back to a memory of Hoist long ago, when they'd been stationed on Callius 23, and the local oil house had not only oil for drinking but for soaking as well. The doctor would hire one of the baths for several cycles and prescribe that the architect indulge with him. The sight of Hoist emerging from the kettle, drips of oil sliding off his frame like liquid jewels, had convinced him to accept the much younger doctor's advances in the first place.

Entering the darkened hangar they made their way back to their room, where Hyperion went imediately to his large low berth and lay down upon it.

"I thought you wanted me to fuel you," Grapple questioned.

"I do. Please fill me here."

"Suit yourself. It's easy with this body to do it anywhere. Even mid-air I suppose."

"You will be able to fuel him mid-air," said Apex as he walked past.

Grapple tensed inside. Right now he could barely walk, and the thought of flying only worried him the more. He'd never had a flying alt-mode. Had he taken on too much with this new role? But he calmed himself with the knowledge that he'd not be the first to have been put into this situation, and that his new teammates were certainly ready to teach him with all the patience they had. Grapple clumsily climbed up onto the berth, stood next to Hyperion, opened the panel for the fueling hose, and uncoiled some of the length. He'd actually gotten some practice with it at the party, some of the rowdier bots wanting to be served 'right from the source' despite Grapple's protest that he was two steps removed from the source.

But none the less he'd filled cubes and hubcaps—until Grimlock insisted on sucking right from the hose. "Why waste time on cube or cup?" the Dinobot had theorized aloud, reaching for the hose nozzle in Grapple's hand.

"Well... all right," Grapple had conceded, not about to say no to the Dinobot leader, now easily three times his size. "Just be careful with it. The nozzle's got some delicate equipment inside," he cautioned as he handed it over.

Grimlock had then pulled down his battle mask and put the hose nozzle into his rarely-seen mouth and began to drink. And as kinky as it seemed, Grimlock wasn't the only one who liked the idea. After he'd passed the hose to Slag for a long draw, a small line had formed at the fountain, others wanting to a go. Some of them snickered as they waited a turn and there were mentions of Octane, the notorious Decepticon fueler.

Grapple leaned against Hyperion and finding that Hyperion had not opened the fueling port, he slid it open gently. Then he eased the end of the hose into it, finding that the metal tip responded to Hyperion's systems. With a pinging of metal it automatically locked into the outer valve, forming an airtight seal. Tugging at it lightly he found it did not budge, at least until he commanded it to relax and release. "That's handy. It won't slip out."

"That's so you can work on his finish or help with repairs while you fuel him," explained Sundog. "There may be times I need a little help."

Hyperion had shut off his optics and was relaxing against the berth, an expectant smile on his faceplate. Apex was stretching, having put on some soft music. Sundog was plugging into Hyperion for her usual check of his systems.

"Ready, Hyperion?" Grapple asked.

"Please. Call me Peery. We're teammates now."

"And call me Sunny," echoed Sundog.

He had to laugh. Sunstreaker's abhorrence of the same nickname was well known. "All right Peery. Sunny. Ready, Peery?"

"Please," he said, something of a purr in his voice.

Grapple turned on his internal pump and watched as the energon flowed from his internal reservoir through the mesh-wrapped tube into the larger mech. He felt a twinge from Hyperion's outer valve as the fuel hit it.

"Slower," Hyperion whispered, almost whimpering. "As slowly as you can."

"Slower? Really? I can slow this pump to almost a drip. It's really easy to control I've found."

"Please. Do that. Fuel me as slowly as you can."

Grapple chuckled. "All right. But it will take all night though."

"We have all night."

As Grapple choked the flow to a mere trickle, he suddenly found Sundog beside him, her extra-long interface cables held carefully to the side. She took his hand and guided him up onto Hyperion's chest, sitting him down where the reclining terast could see them both as she curled up against the fueler's back. Experienced hands stroked at his frame, one she obviously had more familiarity with than its wearer. And if he'd had any questions about what was going to happen next, the rising EM fields answered them all. How could he have not seen this coming? How could he have not noticed the longing in Hyperion's eyes? And right now those sad aqua-blue optics were focused on him, but the sadness was gone. Instead there was contentment and pleasure in them.

"Grapple, thank you for joining the team," Sundog said softly. "We were incomplete without a fueler."

"Yes... very incomplete," said Apex, who had come over and was cradling Hyperion's head with most of his frame, two pairs of identically colored optics gazing lovingly up at the new fueler.

Completeness. It seemed to be a special thing for these ancient mechs.

There came a series of clicks from behind him and Grapple suddenly realized that Sundog had opened a panel in his back, the opening being followed by the distinctive, teasing tingle of fingertips against interface ports.

Grapple sent an urgent message to Hoist. ::They're wanting an interface! Probably four-way. Is it safe? I've only been in this frame for half a day!::

::You'll be just fine as long as you keep your spark chamber closed,:: came the response.

::Are you sure?::

::I'm sure. Have a good time. Oh, and save the memory file. I'd love a copy.::

That made Grapple smile. Hoist was the best.

Apex was now stroking Hyperion's four antennae with a practiced touch, the huge mech sighing and purring at the pilot's ministrations. He then noticed that the coreformer had extended two nerve-cables and penetrated two conduits in Hyperion's shoulders. Two more slithred out to help with the antennae as one of the giant's hands rubbed at his own plating just above where the energon dripped into his own tank.

"Looks good, doesn't it?" whispered Sundog suggestively into one of Grapple's audial receptors. "May I plug you in?"

Grapple's cooling system suddenly ramped up from a background whir to full-on climate control to match the rising warmth in his frame. Everything about the moment felt good—the building heat from the terast beneath him, the touch of the mechanic against and within his frame, the sussuring whispers his teammates now spoke in, the background vibration of the terast's engine, the swirling EM fields engulfing him, the slow soothing chimes of the music Apex had chosen, the unexpectedly titillating sensation of fuel dripping out of him and into the needy tank of the terast. And above all this was the overriding emotion of being wanted and needed and loved by these three bots who were really still strangers to him.

Without waiting for an answer, Sundog deftly slid the tip of a data cable into one of the jacks in his back, and suddenly there was a pulse of light and radiation from the terast's spark somewhere beneath him, a burst which simultaneously shot through the cables connecting Hyperion to his fueler as well as simply arcing down through the metal. The mechs on the mission to China had described such a burst, one much larger though, as Apex and Hyperion had linked into one consciousness. He'd have to investigate later. For now... all he could feel was Hyperion's love and enthusiasm crashing into him like a wave.

And then Apex connected to Hyperion.

Grapple's optics brightened beyond their usual blue as the burst tore into him with the fury of a thunderstorm. "Too much!" he gasped, going rigid and arching his back and pushing against Sundog's chest. He could feel electricity discharging in arcs where he touched the others. "Too much!" he cried again as his systems began to overload.

And as he whited out with sensation, the last thing he saw was the open tip of one of Apex's nerve-cables hovering in front of him, the end bristling with a myriad of hungrily sparking wires and plugs.

-o-

-o-o-o-

-o-o-o-o-o-

" **Grapple's Choice" continues in Chapter 5: Unity**

-o-o-o-o-o-

-o-o-o-

-o-

 **Feedback welcome! Commentary welcome!**

 _Transformers_ and all related concepts, characters, worlds, and events are property of Hasbro and Takara Tomy. Original characters and story elements are property of E. Potter, writing under the pen name of Miratete.

-o-o-o-o-o-

 **Author Notes**

 **The Transfer** – This scene parallels a portion ofthe birthing scene in my story "Sunset Dreams"in which Swoop is delivered of his sparkling. No more spoilers though, should you wish to read it.

 **Kinkfest** – Yes, this is the kinky chapter: flirting, feeding, fueling, Octane (sorry, that triple changer's a walking fetish in and of itself), hoses, tentacles, oil, age differences, size differences, group play, public, tactile, etc. Did I miss anything?

 **Clumsiness –** I envision a newly formatted mech as having some physical difficulty on assuming a new body. The more different from their most recent form, the more difficult the transition is. Grapple's just come out of a large, bulky body with very little subspace and is now in a much smaller, sleeker form with a huge amount of subspace.

 **The Terast Symbol** – Grapple realizes what exactly the symbol stands for. Yes, I'm proud of the design. ^^

 **Grimlock –** I can so see Grimlock as being the one to just go for the hose. Me Grimlock think practically—why bother with social norms?

 **Callius 23 –** Should I write a Hoist and Grapple story based on this? Anyone besides me like these two together?

 **Sundog Guiding Grappl** e – Grapple's been in Stoker's frame less than a day. Sundog's been working with Stoker's frame at least four vorns.

-o-o-o-o-o-


	5. Unity

**Grapple's Choice**

-o-o-o-o-o-

 **Chapter 5: Unity**

-o-o-o-o-o-

"Grapple... I love you," whispered the warm white light floating before him, bold tendrils of stardust reaching out in his direction.

"Love me? We hardly know each other." The white light of the terast's soul was brilliant and pure and he could not help but be drawn toward it.

Another white light suddenly swirled about the two of them. "And is there anything wrong with that?" it asked.

"Apex?"

The core-former chuckled. "Yes, it's me." And with that he drew Hyperion and Grapple together. "Don't be afraid to love, Grapple. Terasts need it—as much as they need energon. Don't be afraid to return the feelings he shows for you."

"That we all show for you. We're a team now," said a third voice.

Grapple felt wonderfully dizzy as the third presence passed through the blue flame of his own being. "Sunny..."

She laughed and spun him and Hyperion together, and Grapple found himself engulfed by Hyperion. And suddenly he felt an enormous surge of power coming from Hyperion specifically. "Grapple, please... love me. Please open to me," the white light pleaded. "I lost Stoker, and I need someone."

The sadness and passion in the terast's voice was overwhelming, and the memory of him lying outside of the Aerialbots' hangar came rolling back, the poor mech nearly motionless with grief for a week, tears dripping down the sides of his faceplate. How sorry Grapple had felt for him, and how much he wanted to care for him—to hold him and let him know it would eventually be all right. He himself had lost loved ones over the course of the war and knew the depths of sorrow. Just as painfully he'd lost projects, his masterpieces of architecture, that which he'd lived for. And now here was that opportunity to care intimately for Hyperion, and he'd been afraid of it, afraid of acting rashly or boldly, afraid of making a decision he'd later regret.

Perhaps it was time to just give in to emotion and desire. Was there was any reason to hold back any longer?

Grapple's spark surged and the blue light swelled, overwhelming Hyperion's white soul. "Peery..."

"Yes?"

"I do love you. I can give you all the love you need," cried out the new fueler.

"Grapple!" came the response, spoken in unison by three voices.

"My team..." sighed Apex proudly. "Complete again." And then with a laugh the light that was their leader pulled back, opened into a thin torus, and rotated slowly.

With a joyous giggle the two white sparks flew to him, Sundog placing herself on the ring while Hyperion centered himself within it. The three thusly arranged, Grapple could feel them now beckoning wordlessly to him, calling him to his place. At which point he rushed into their embrace, understanding immediately where he now belonged, and took his place upon the ring opposite of Sundog.

And there in the tangle of consciousness four minds swirled together in a blissful union. And for the first time in his existence Grapple felt complete closeness and appreciation. There were four of them in perfect balance, and as long as there was that balance, formed from the perfect light of Primus, nothing else mattered. Life suddenly wasn't about the faction. It wasn't about his talent. Architecture was nothing—a fleeting attempt at imitating the perfection found in the harmony between souls.

-o-

-o-o-o-

-o-o-o-o-o-

" **Grapple's Choice" continues in Chapter 6: Trouble on Cybertron**

-o-o-o-o-o-

-o-o-o-

-o-

 **Feedback welcome! Commentary welcome!**

 _Transformers_ and all related concepts, characters, worlds, and events are property of Hasbro and Takara Tomy. Original characters and story elements are property of E. Potter, writing under the pen name of Miratete.

-o-o-o-o-o-


	6. Trouble on Cybertron

**Grapple's Choice**

-o-o-o-o-o-

 **Chapter 6 : Trouble on Cybertron**

-o-o-o-o-o-

They all watched in horror and shock as the broadcast came in from Cybertron. A desperate Elita-One cried out for help, her pleas for assistance barely audible over the sounds of assault on their base and the screams of her unit. And then one shouted name struck fear into them all—Shockwave. Suddenly an explosion and falling debris cut off the transmission.

"Spacebridge! Now!" Optimus commanded without even asking details. "Elita, we're on our way!" He put a quick hand on Blaster's shoulder. "See if you can reach them again. Stay with them if you do. Keep us posted on the details."

But on arriving at the Decepticon spacebridge, the rescue force found Devastator and Menasor waiting in front of it, a band of waiting Decepticons and a gloating Megatron at their feet. "Going somewhere, Optimus Prime?" the Decepticon leader teased menacingly.

-o-

-o-o-o-

-o-o-o-o-o-

" **Grapple's Choice" continues in Chapter 7: Transition**

-o-o-o-o-o-

-o-o-o-

-o-

 **Feedback welcome! Commentary welcome!**

 _Transformers_ and all related concepts, characters, worlds, and events are property of Hasbro and Takara Tomy. Original characters and story elements are property of E. Potter, writing under the pen name of Miratete.

-o-o-o-o-o-


	7. Transition

**Grapple's Choice**

-o-o-o-o-o-

 **Chapter 7 : Transition**

-o-o-o-o-o-

Defeated in battle and unable to 'borrow' the Decepticons' spacebridge, Optimus sardined a force of mechs into Jetfire and Cosmos and a few more into Hyperion and headed straight for Cybertron. On arrival, they found the base completely destroyed and the femmes missing, but were able to eventually locate them hidden in the ruins of a long-silent spaceport terminal. Elita-One's team had fled and found shelter there amidst a number of empties, who, while not exactly welcoming of the refugees, begrudgingly allowed them in. Optimus' force joined them there, now a week after the call for help, and the reunion was a bitter and tearful one.

Elita-One gave her mate an unashamed earful, ranting nearly non-stop about his abandoning her and her team. Yes, he'd had Cosmos deliver supplies and energon on a regular basis, but it wasn't enough. She was forgiving of the six octads spent unconscious on Earth. She was understanding of why they weren't able to reach her contingent when attacked. She understood the fact that it had taken them a week to reach them at the spaceport. What she was angry over was that in the five meta-cycles since their discovery he'd had little if any contact with them. Shockwave's destruction of their base had finally brought her frustration and anger to a head.

And this was no private conference either. Elita-One literally had Optimus kneeling in front of her while she loomed over him, spitting out her heartache and tears. The other Autobots and her own battered force watched quietly from a distance as the Prime's mate cowed the great leader. Except for the terast team. Apex, Sundog, and Hyperion had spent their time on Cybertron so far in silence, trying hard to wrap their processors around what had become of their beautiful planet during their long sleep. Grapple stood with them trying to comfort and explain.

Eventually Alpha Trion stepped in and pulled Elita-One away, where she went nearly limp in his arms, sobbing against the ancient mech's shoulder. Giving Optimus a look of pity, Alpha Trion led the woeful femme away, taking her down into the ruins of the spaceport terminal. At this point Chromia stepped in and continued to berate the Prime for neglecting his bondmate, the burden at least being shared by Ironhide. His crime was that of not reminding the Prime that he had a bondmate on Cybertron.

When Chromia let up and stormed away, practically dragging her mate with her, Optimus retreated to think, visibly trembling from the unexpected dressing down. He was later joined by Alpha Trion. "You'll have to do something, Optimus," said the ancient mech gravely. "She's not going to settle for promises that you'll pay more heed."

"What should I do?" he asked frustratedly. "I wanted to bring her to Earth, but she refused."

"Then you'll have to go to her."

"I can't leave Earth while Megatron is there," he countered.

"A difficult situation, isn't it?" sighed Alpha Trion, sitting down beside him.

Optimus held his tongue but glared at the mech who had chosen to craft a nearly dead, inconsequential dockworker into the leader of the Autobot faction.

-o-o-o-o-o-

They all knew an announcement was forthcoming—Optimus Prime having spent the past two days in conference with Alpha Trion, Elita-One, Prowl, Jazz, and Chromia—but the specific decision made came as some surprise.

Despite the costs and the difficulty, a space bridge was to be built, linking the Autobots on Earth to Cybertron without the need to continually wrest control of one of the Decepticons' bridges. A team of mechs to permanently guard, operate, and maintain it on Cybertron would be included in the package.

At the core of the guardian force would be Apex and his team.

-o-o-o-o-o-

The new fueler lay sobbing in Hoist's arms. Grapple, barely four months into his new role, was completely upset by the decision to move the terast to Cybertron.

The doctor gently stroked his lover's helm and shoulders trying to comfort him. Despite the sadness of the moment he was enjoying holding him in his lap, their current position having been impossible before Grapple had taken the new frame. Teletraan had chosen an Earth-mode for him that had been bulky and cumbersome. Even before that reshaping the mech had been a large one. By comparison, the fueler's frame was lithe and sleek and graceful in design—the aesthetics and mindset of the Golden Age still present at the time of Stoker's joining of the terast program.

"I know I need to leave, but I still don't want to. We've been together for so long—long before even coming to Earth."

"It's not the end of us. We knew it was a possibility when you joined their team, even though Optimus was going to keep you here on this planet. And besides, we've been apart before, and in much more dire circumstances at that. This is nothing compared to what we've been through."

Grapple sighed. "You're always so logical..."

"And you're always so emotional." Hoist leaned forward and placed a kiss on the beautiful brow.

Grapple looked up into the doctor's optic band, the only light besides his own eyes in the dark of his quarters.

Hoist held him tighter. "You'll at least be going back to Cybertron, and get to spend time with Elita's crew. And besides, you'll be more useful there. To the terast and his team. To Elita One. To Cybertron. You can even start plans for rebuilding while you're there."

"Yes... but without you."

"We'll see each other again. Probably more often than expected in fact. Chances are that as the fueler, you'll be the one hauling the energon from Earth to Cybertron." The doctor produced a small towel and blotted Grapple's face.

"Always positive as well as logical."

"Think of it this way. You'll have your gestalt. You'll have me here on Earth. You'll have all those lovely femmes on Cybertron lined up wanting to suck from your hose..."

Grapple squealed in embarrassment. Hoist could say such perverted things at times, and he knew it was done just to tease him.

"And besides. You'll have him... that tall, handsome terast."

"You're not jealous, are you?"

"I am. I wish they'd asked me to be their fueler." He sighed dramatically.

Grapple laughed through his tears. "You know that's not what I meant."

And then Hoist took Grapple's head beneath the chin and kissed him again, this time lingering on the perfect lip components. And when he finally completed the moment, he held Grapple's face, staring into his optics. "Hyperion needs you, probably more than we need each other."

"Don't say that!"

"You know it's true. There were deep bonds between Hyperion and Stoker, those of carrier and sparkling as well as fueler and terast. He can't leave that place open."

He vented sorrowfully. "I'm not Stoker, but at least I'm something."

"He knows that. Your team knows that. But you're right. That feeling of having someone there to look after him is what he needs. We both knew that you joining was for the best." Lips met again. "Be good to them. I know you can give him what he needs, and I don't just mean fuel and minerals and a polish now and then."

Grapple's lithe fingers slid into the seams of Hoist's arms and stroked at the cabling they found. "We estimate it will be two months—about three decacycles—before this end of the spacebridge is complete. And until the receiving end of it is complete, travel through it will be one way only. Tomorrow Huffer and I will spend the whole day putting together a construction schedule and figuring out where to get the necessary materials. Thankfully the Decepticons did all the planning for us, right down to a supplies list. In a way I'm surprised that we've waited this long to build our own spacebridge, given that Jazz and Mirage stole the blueprints for one ages ago."

"Two months is nothing."

"Two months, no. But after that we begin construction on Cybertron. Not just the spacebridge but the base around it—control works and defenses and supply rooms. We'll need a source of water and places to live. I'll have to design and build that, and it's not going to be easy, trying to work on Cybertron with things as they are."

"But you can do it, Grapple. We know you can. You and Huffer are the best candidates for this job."

Grapple sighed. "But it's still a daunting task because of the conditions. And..." He looked up into Hoist's optics again. "And you won't be with me."

Hoist chuckled and he pulled Grapple's slender form up into a sitting position and kissed him again. "You're acting like an anxious little sparkling. That's Hyperion's job, isn't it?"

Grapple sighed. "You're right. We've been apart before, like you said. Sometimes for vorns."

"Isn't that why we've never bonded?"

This made the upset mech laugh. "I thought it was because you were never serious enough about settling down with one mech. And you keep saying you're too young to settle down with anyone." Hoist was rather young compared to most of the Autobots on Optimus' team.

"I thought it was because we were waiting for the end of the war. Besides... you're one to talk. You know the gestalt bond is pretty much the same as a sparkbond."

"Yes... It's like having three sparkmates."

"There you go, trying to make me jealous again," huffed Hoist. And then he pulled him in, kissing him fiercely. "At least we have two months before you're gone and I lose you completely to them," he whispered into Grapple's mouth.

-o-

-o-o-o-

-o-o-o-o-o-

" **Grapple's Choice" continues in Chapter 8: Nova Sabulon**

-o-o-o-o-o-

-o-o-o-

-o-

 **Feedback welcome! Commentary welcome!**

 _Transformers_ and all related concepts, characters, worlds, and events are property of Hasbro and Takara Tomy. Original characters and story elements are property of E. Potter, writing under the pen name of Miratete.

-o-o-o-o-o-


	8. Nova Sabulon

**Grapple's Choice**

-o-o-o-o-o-

 **Chapter 8: Nova Sabulon**

-o-o-o-o-o-

Hoist stepped out of the space bridge's reception chamber and into the large control room that housed it. He'd finally been granted permission to travel to Cybertron for a visit to the base, under the expectation of delivering medical equipment to Nova Sabulon and performing an inspection of the facility. It had been four years since Hoist had been on Cybertron, but only two since Ironhide, standing beside him looking around expectantly, had visited. Most of the Autobots had made the trip at some point or another to assist with the construction or to deliver supplies. Hoist had come early on with Ratchet to help Greenlight, Elita-One's medic, set up an infirmary as soon as a place to house it had been constructed. They'd traveled by spacebridge there, but Cosmos had ferried them back to Earth, the corresponding spacebridge on the Cybertronian end not quite complete at the time.

There was Grapple, along with the rest of the terast team, waiting to meet him. Grapple flew into his arms, nearly knocking him off balance, and kissed him on the mask. "Hoist!" he squeaked in a voice choked with happy emotion. "I have missed you!"

The doctor quickly dropped his mask so he could kiss back, and the two enjoyed a passionate moment, after which the rest of the team insisted on embracing Hoist and pressing their faceplates to his. They'd still not picked up the habit of kissing, despite Grapple's fondness for the act. And then Grapple seized Hoist by the hand and tried to lead him out of the control room. "I have so much to show you! We've been doing so well here, even despite the Decepticon attacks."

A loud squeal of "Ironhide!" signalled Chromia's reunion with her bondmate. A pale yellow blur flung itself upon the old warrior, and catching her he spun her about enthusiastically. "Yellow?" Ironhide asked, staring at his mate's new color scheme. Chromia's familiar blue was now a pearly primrose.

"Like it?" she asked, stepping back and giving herself a twirl.

"It'll take some getting used to," Ironhide appraised. "Kinda old fashioned for you, isn't it? What's that backpack there? You flying now?"

"I'm not as old fashioned as you are," she teased and led her bondmate away. "Come on. I've got so much to tell you, and there's someone you have to meet."

Grapple was likewise trying to pull Hoist away. But the doctor held his ground. "Hang on, there. I have to get this medical equipment to the right place first, and then Ratchet expects me to make an official inspection of the medbay. _Then_ I'm yours."

Grapple laughed lightly, and at this point Hoist noticed that Grapple's optics were no longer the blue they'd always been, but were more of an aquamarine color like those of the rest of his gestalt. "All right, though not all mine. My gestalt has a claim on you first.

"Oh?"

"Gestalt rules. You remember. Family time before private time," Apex grinned.

Hoist chuckled and nodded at the terast leader. "All right then."

-o-o-o-o-o-

Hoist spent the next several cycles in the base's medbay, unpacking supplies and inventorying what there was. Greenlight helped him out, thrilled to receive so much from Earth. "We've been able to manufacture some of it there, and to obtain some of it from human sources," Hoist explained. "In fact we have a small factory in a place called Mexico that's making cables and hoses to Cybertronian specifications now." He pulled the lid off of a wooden crate to reveal several spools of the aforementioned, labeled in Spanish, English, and Cybertronian. We also have another factory in a place called Taiwan that's making bolts and other fasteners for us."

"That's wonderful, and this will be great," said Clamp, Greenlight's assistant, as he broke the plastic wrap over one of the spools and held the cabling out for Greenlight to examine.

"We've been scavenging for spare parts for so long now," sighed Greenlight. "The empties have been providing for us as well, digging up old battlefields and salvaging parts from them to trade for energon. It's not ideal, but it's something."

"We've been working to alleviate that, what with our new sources on Earth and the spacebridge in operation," said Hoist apologetically.

"And what a difference it's made!" Clamp exclaimed, blue optics shining happily.

-o-o-o-o-o-

After the work in the medbay was done, Hoist met the terast team and they took him on a long walking tour of the base so the doctor could see the new construction since his last visit. And after the tour they returned to the main building and went to an upstairs room with large windows. There were tables clustered around an energon dispenser and several computer consoles. A small stage and lectern sat at one end of the room. The team sat at a large table, and when Sundog returned from the dispenser with five cubes of energon, she placed one in front of each of them.

Hoist suddenly remembered that Hyperion had no esophageal tube and wondered why a cube was even brought over for him. Perhaps Grapple would consume it and then pump the contents into the terast. To his surprise, Hyperion withdrew a thin hose from his forearm, a hose tipped with an ornate silver head. The fancy end was placed into the cube and immediately the liquid in the cube began to flow up the hose into Hyperion's body. "That's nifty," said Hoist, gesturing at the arrangement.

"Oh, that," said Grapple. "This would be the first time for you to see it. Sundog found that nozzle in one of the salvage shops in Goldtown and had this idea."

"It's so Hyperion can drink with us," she explained. "I installed a tiny pump into his arm and a connection hose to a transitional fuel tank in his chest. The system moves too low a volume to refuel efficiently from, but... he has a chemical and stomach sensor set in it."

"I can taste the energon now!" grinned Hyperion.

"I have no idea why they denied the terasts such an arrangement when they were built, but we have given Hyperion one," said Apex.

"And how does energon taste, Hyperion?" Hoist queried.

Hyperion grinned. "I love it! The system is so wonderful. The feeling of being refueled before was amazing, but now... now I can taste it." His hand suddenly went to Grapple's shoulder. "It could never replace my fueler, but now I can enjoy the drinks my team does."

"But mind you, he is most impossible to get overcharged," Apex laughed. "A small cube of high-grade and I start dancing atop the tables. Peery here... he would easily bankrupt us before he would even be buzzing."

Hoist laughed. "Not that you can get high-grade around here that often."

"We have actually been lucky. Those that come visiting from Earth are often carrying it. And there are a couple of bars in Goldtown now."

"So you have gotten a little. I'm glad," Hoist smiled, his mask dropped to drink.

"When Silverbolt and the Aerialbots visited a stellar-cycle ago, they brought quite a bit with them," said Sundog. "There was a party somewhere every night for an orn."

"Mmm... mostly so Silverbolt could talk Sundog into his berth," Apex teased the femme as he leaned back into his chair.

The mechanic squeaked in embarrassment. "Not true!"

"So then where were you those three nights, Sunny? And you know very well that the team bond cannot be shut down completely."

Sundog looked away with mock guilt on her face. "All right. So Silverbolt and I have become a bit closer."

"A lot closer," insisted Grapple.

Hoist laughed. "Your secret's safe with me, if it is a secret."

"I suppose it really is not a secret," Sundog said with a sigh. "However the Aerialbots are pretty tight when it comes to relationships. They are willing to let me in, but the details go no further than their gestalt."

"That's wonderful," Hoist said. "I think it's sweet that you're seeing him. He's a very respected Autobot you know, despite his rather recent reincarnation. I assume that he's okay with you not being a flyer?" Mixed couples often suffered from basic frame-orientation differences.

" _He_ is certainly okay with it. Maybe the others are not as much, but Silverbolt is."

"That figures actually. From what I know of Silverbolt, he's not your typical flyboy." Hoist downed the rest of his cube. "So what's next?" he asked when it was empty.

"The hour is late, but tomorrow... tomorrow we shall take you around more of the base and then go out to Goldtown," announced Apex.

Grapple looked embarrassed. "No. He does not want to go there. There really is nothing to see there."

"Of course there is," countered Apex. "If there was nothing there, why would it have a name?"

"What is Goldtown?" asked Hoist, now quite intrigued. "I've heard it mentioned several times since I arrived."

Sundog leaned up against the doctor. "While you have been apart, Grapple has been platting out a town in the barrens to the south of the base."

"My extra-curricular work out there is nothing really," said Grapple modestly. "But someday it will be the city of Nova Sabulon."

"But there are already mechs living there," added Hyperion excitedly, speaking up for the first time.

"Well I certainly am intrigued now," said Hoist. "I'd like to see this."

Grapple sighed begrudgingly. "All right. But Goldtown really is not much to look at."

"Nonetheless it is what we have, and we are proud of Grapple for it," said Sundog. "And there is the crystal well."

Grapple's expression suddenly changed. "The well? Yes, I definitely want to show him the crystal well," he said firmly. "That is something special."

At this his other three teammates smiled. "Definitely," agreed Apex for them.

-o-o-o-o-o-

Alone at last, Hoist locked the doors of the guest quarters, turned, and took Grapple into his arms, his black mask sliding away again. He vented a sigh of contentment and simply looked into the fueler's optics.

"Yes?" Grapple prompted.

"Just enjoying seeing your faceplate again. I've missed you more than I thought I would."

Grapple smiled. "It has only been eight stellar-cycles since the terast was moved here. And I know you have been busy back on Earth." And then he pulled out of the doctor's arms and moved away to the computer console, pulling up some music.

Hoist sat himself in the large, heavily padded chair and watched as Grapple adjusted the room's lighting and got out a few glasses for a drink. Admittedly, if he had not known of Grapple's transformation, he would have not recognized his long-time lover. In the years they'd been apart so much about him had changed. The architect now spoke using the archaic dialect and accent of his teammates. His gait was light and lilting. His optics had paled. His mannerisms and gestures were fast and flowing. And most noticeably, Grapple wore a smile almost constantly. It was not simply his faceplate; some faceplates were forged with a gentle smile as the default expression. But this smile was genuine—a smile of contentment and comfort and confidence. He also suspected that the frequent bouts of depression were a thing of the past now that Grapple was building again.

Hoist pulled out a couple cubes of high-grade he'd been saving for a moment like this. One he set on the convenience table beside the chair, and the other he unsealed and filled the glasses with it as he watched the blue-grey mech pull back the covers on the berth. Then Grapple approached the chair and placed his hands on the armrests, leaned forward, and kissed Hoist teasingly. But as Grapple was about to pull back, Hoist seized him and pulled him quickly into his lap. "Not so fast, my little pleasurebot," he said smugly.

"Pleasurebot?" Grapple giggled.

"You and this pretty frame of yours. There's no mistaking it for anything else, is there?"

"If so then I am _your_ pleasurebot, and I think I know what you want." He leaned in and pressed his face to the doctor's.

"I've been wanting it for years."

Grapple giggled again. "Come now, you must have some new lover back on Earth to keep you company. I know you are not the sort to stay alone for long, and we all know what medical personnel are like."

"There's no one back on Earth."

Grapple snorted. "I have a hard time believing that. Now who would be sharing your berth these days? Tracks? Bluestreak?" His optics narrowed. "Ratchet?"

Hoist chuckled. "I know that's what you'd expect of me. But actually I haven't been much interested in anyone else."

"Not even casually? I still find that hard to believe," Grapple teased.

Hoist jerked him forward and caught his lips with his. "You've spoiled me," he said after the kiss. "And perhaps I've grown up a little too."

Grapple smiled, rather amazed at Hoist's dried up love-life. He'd never known the doctor to remain alone. Even when they'd been separated before, Hoist would usually find someone to at least cuddle with. Grapple slid back from the other mech, perching against the knobby knees, and reached for the half-empty cube of high-grade. After a few sips, he paused and looked up at the ceiling, processors whirring softly. "Niobium? That is wicked. Who infuses niobium into their high-grade?"

"You and that sensitive palate of yours. You never used to notice such things."

"I must look after my terast diligently," he smiled and drank again.

"That cube was a gift from the Dinobots, so I suspect Wheeljack's the distiller."

"That figures. A madmech like that..."

Hoist kissed at Grapple's chest and neck as the fueler continued to drink, and when the empty cube was set aside, he stood, lifting Grapple with him and carried him to the berth.

The fueler stretched temptingly across the upholstered surface as the lights dimmed to barely-there setting. "Before you begin, let me show you something," Grapple said gently and began shifting the plates of his chest.

Hoist tensed as Grapple's frame opened, the glow of his spark chamber appearing through the darkness. The five latches tightly locking in his soul released, and Grapple reached up to manually open the doors enclosing it. And the doctor, though having seen hundreds if not thousands of sparks in his career, still gasped as his lover revealed himself so intimately for him. "Grapple... your spark! It's turned white—like theirs."

"Yes. After coming here, I noticed that it began to pale, the color fading a little more with each interface. Eventually the color bleached into pure white over the years," he explained." I belong to them completely now."

Hoist reached up, his fingers moving into the aura of the spark, staring reverently at the bared soul inside of his lover's chest. "Grapple..." His hand teased the tendrils of light. Suddenly Hoist's reverence melted into passion, and he guided the gates closed as his lips again found those of the other mech.

-o-o-o-o-o-

Hoist found himself awake first and not having any reason to rise, he simply lay in the warm berth upon his back, enjoying the gentle hum of Grapple's systems in their recharge status. He'd missed his architect over the past four years and it was good to have him back in his arms, even with all the changes. But again, these changes seemed to have been good for him. As suspected, the depression had disappeared, replaced by an enthusiasm for the future.

Hoist sighed wistfully and dared to imagine what the future might bring. The end of the war might mean a bonding with Grapple, though the gestalt bond might complicate things. Would they break their bond, or simply allow him into it? Either way, there would be the siring or carrying of newsparks—he himself was equipped for both though he'd never personally participated in the propagation of their species, save for the transfer of separated sparks into their first frames.

Unlike Red Alert, Grapple was not the jealous sort. Perhaps if the gestalt bond remained he could talk Terast Apex into sparking him. That would be something. Or perhaps the gestalt as a whole through a five-way merge. Though from a temperament standpoint, it made the most sense for him to be a sire to Sundog's offspring, from which a great line of doctors and medics on the reborn Cybertron would arise. But perhaps Silverbolt already had a claim on her—who knew what promises had been exchanged by those two.

Hoist's reverie ended when alarms sounded and Grapple woke with a start. "An attack!" he cried and scrambled from the berth. "Shockwave is probably trying to take the spacebridge again!"

Moments later commands scrolled in through the messaging system confirming Grapple's guess.

"I suppose I'll report to the medbay. Greenlight could probably use my assistance down there," Hoist decided aloud as Grapple checked himself over before heading out.

"I am sure she could if we have any casulaties."

Hoist climbed off of the berth and they headed out, but on reaching the door of the guest quarters, Hoist seized Grapple in his arms and kissed him deeply. "Be safe," he said, wishing to linger but knowing they shouldn't.

"I will. You too, in case things get rough around here." And with that Grapple was out the door and down the hall.

But on the approach to the medbay, Sundog caught Hoist. "Come," she said, taking his hand.

"Where to? I was headed for the medbay."

"The communications room. We watch from there until I'm needed," she said, pulling him into an elevator. In the elevator she took her alternate form, and Hoist did as well, following her lead. From there they headed through the corridors and into a second elevator, and once inside this one Sundog returned to her robot form. "Just stay out of the way and keep quiet. This is where Elita-One commands from so she will be busy watching the battle and giving orders."

"She isn't out at the front lines?" he asked, thinking of Optimus in battle.

"No. Elita is not built for combat. She is better off here guiding the others."

The door opened and Sundog led Hoist into a large room surrounded by windows on all sides. In the center was a large raised deck, upon which Elita-One stood, surrounded by her staff at their computer consoles. Ironhide stood beside her, his arms folded over his chest. Others were about the room, including Grapple, who immediately came over. "Hoist! What are you doing here?" he asked in a hushed voice. "I thought you were heading to the medbay."

"Sundog brought me up here," he explained.

"So he could watch, and to see this room of yours in use," she supplied.

Hoist looked about the command center. "You built this room?"

Grapple smiled. "I did. The communications room is a fairly basic design—not much to it really, but it works very well for these situations."

"It's wonderful," he said, glancing around at the massive windows and arrays of monitors and computer stations. "I suppose I might ask what are you doing up here? I didn't think you were command or communications staff."

"Sundog and I wait here, ready to deploy in case Terast Apex needs us... or Terast Chromia."

Hoist cocked his head slightly. "Terast Chromia? What?"

"Our second terast is something of a secret right now." He pointed up to a pair of large monitors above the floating deck, one edged in Hyperion's greyish-blueish-goldish green and the other edged in a pearly yellow. The two monitors were labeled 'Apex' and 'Chromia' respectively. "When scanning the north reaches of the new base we found another terast in stasis-lock, hidden in the rubble of an old factory. Much to our surprise we were able to revive him. But only the terast was found—his team was lost."

Sundog continued. "But he took a liking to Chromia and accepted her as his pilot. Until we can find a fueler and a mechanic for him, Grapple and I have been taking care of him as well."

"Two terasts? I had no idea. Nothing's been said of it."

Sundog took Hoist's arm. "Well, like Grapple said, it is something of a secret now. This is only their third battle. We are still working on Chromia's nerve-cables as their binary-bond is not yet a hundred percent, but Greenlight and I are close to perfecting it."

"And once they do, watch out Shockwave. Elita might even turn our two terasts from defensive to offensive," Grapple grinned.

"And how are you two doing with this double-duty?" Hoist asked, now watching the monitor screens upon which were displayed the vital statistics for the two terasts and their pilots, as well as their video feeds.

Grapple leaned in closer. "We will miss them when they get their own support crew. Chromia is a lot of fun to work with, and Victory is just like Hyperion—very young and sweet and shy and loving. They could have been twin brothers."

"They even act like twins sometimes. Victory even calls Hyperion 'big brother' sometimes."

"Victory... What a nice name," Hoist mused. "So suddenly you're a parent of two now," the doctor chuckled to Grapple.

The fueler smiled. "In some ways, yes."

And then Hoist thought of how Ironhide might have reacted to the news that his bondmate had become the mentor if not the adoptive parent of the newly woken terast. "Well that explains Chromia's new paint-job."

The three continued to watch the battle, studying the monitors, smiling as the two terasts tore up the attacking force. The battle was a minor one, one of the predictable assaults of Shockwave's drones on the Nova Sabulon base, a unit of two hundred or so drone-soldiers sent to harass the occupants, break down the defenses, and drain the Autobot's resources. Cybertron's supposed guardian had been sending them on something of a regular basis. Though Elita-One and Chromia suspected that these constant and unsuccessful attacks were possibly an attempt by Shockwave to lull the Autobots into a false confidence before sending something decidedly more dangerous against the new base. Certainly Shockwave understood the threat to his control of Cybertron that the new base and spacebridge posed. And so Elita-One remained vigilant, expecting Shockwave to someday unleash some superweapon or a full attack force along with or after the inconsequential drones.

But today was not the day. The terasts, along with the rest of the defense force, had a relatively easy time of it with no reinforcements or continuing force appearing. When the drones were defeated, their entire force left smashed upon the approaches to the base's center, the Autobots returned.

The two terasts flew right up to the communications center, well ahead of the ground force, landing on the deployment pad that extended alongside it, where Sundog, Grapple, and Hoist went out to meet the pair. Ironhide was out there already, swept up into the hands of his bondmate's new guise.

"What did you think?" asked Terast Apex, crouching down to greet Hoist.

"Impressive. And I was surprised to see that there are two of you now," he said, looking over at the other huge mech, a wall of slightly iridescent yellow at this range.

Terast Chromia laughed looking over at the others. "So you noticed. We're fast becoming huge terast fans around here now." Her voice, coming from Victory's mouth, was polyphonic and resonant like Terast Apex's.

"Now I understand your new paint job and the backpack," Hoist laughed.

"Gotta put those tentacles somewhere, you know," Terast Chromia crooned. "Somewhere acceptable that is."

Ironhide chuckled but didn't comment, and then he yelped as the terast lifted him close and kissed him on the side of the head. "Was that you Chromia? Or Victory?"

"Does it matter?" she asked.

-o-o-o-o-o-

There were few casualties resultant from the attack—only a handful of injuries that needed tending to. Hoist worked in the medbay with Greenlight and Clamp, occasionally looking over to where Sundog and Grapple were tending to a blast wound on Hyperion's arm and several broken struts in Victory's waist. Hoist looked over now and then as Grapple began to fuel Hyperion, and he smiled to see them linked in the act. It had become obvious to him since his lover had joined the terast how important this simple activity was for the big mech. And after filling Hyperion, he moved his hose into Victory's chest port and began again, fueling the pale yellow terast. Looking at Victory's faceplate, he noticed the same smile, and wondered if it was a terast thing to find such pleasure in the act of feeding.

-o-

-o-o-o-

-o-o-o-o-o-

" **Grapple's Choice" continues in Chapter 9: A Glimpse of the Future**

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-o-

 **Feedback welcome! Commentary welcome!**

 _Transformers_ and all related concepts, characters, worlds, and events are property of Hasbro and Takara Tomy. Original characters and story elements are property of E. Potter, writing under the pen name of Miratete.

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